


Chase Away Those Restless Fears

by Unsentimentalf



Series: Sorting out Martin's Little Problem [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <i> "I've had some spectacularly unsuccessful dates in my time but this one is starting to really stand out from the crowd. "</i></p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/256526">Sorting Out Martin's Little Problem</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase Away Those Restless Fears

"Checks complete."

They sat for a moment in silence in the cockpit, before Douglas spoke again.

"Shall I pick you up at half six?"

"Yes, that's fine." Martin's voice was steady.

"Good. See you later then." Douglas stood up and left. Martin sat quietly for a moment, somewhat surprised at his own calm. It wouldn't happen; that's why he wasn't nervous. Douglas would change his mind at some point this evening. Inevitably. Martin was just going along with it until then. He picked up his flight bag and climbed out of the plane.

Rather to his dismay he met Carolyn at the foot of the ladder, with a carefully expressionless Douglas in tow.

"We have a complaint, Martin," she announced.

His mind flashed back to the previous night. "A complaint? We were only..." A heavy foot landed on his toes as Douglas continued smoothly "just talking about how long it had been since we had one of those. What was the problem? Arthur not cheerful enough? Food actually poisonous? Owner disappointingly unglamorous?"

"Pilots disappointingly rubbish." Carolyn came back. "According to that man you took to Hamburg on Monday, who turns out to be an amateur aviator God save us, your landing back here breached at least three ATS regulations."

"Monday?" Douglas frowned. "Ah, Monday! Yes, of course, that was the new roadworks. We had a bet on as to the number of workmen who would be actually working when we flew past, so I came in quite low. And tipped the wing a little."

"Fitton ATC didn't complain," Martin pointed out.

"Fitton ATC knows Douglas is both incorrigible and highly unlikely to crash in clear weather, low winds and on his home runway. As do I. But Mr Dainton wants a full explanation. Come into the office; I need you to review the log book and come up with something to put him off the scent that’s not an outright fib."

"Now?" Martin glanced at his watch. Seventeen hundred hours. Home, shower, change... "I've got an appointment shortly. Can we do it tomorrow?"

Carolyn huffed annoyance at him. "I suppose if I must I can get Douglas to make it up and you can sign it off tomorrow."

Douglas shook his head. "Sorry, Carolyn. I, too, have an unbreakable commitment."

"You weren't expected back till seven this evening. How can you both possibly have anything you have to do at five?"

Her eyes widened. "This is something to do with your antics last night, isn't it?"

"Antics?" Martin stuttered. Carolyn couldn't possibly know...

"Oh God, Herc," Douglas muttered.

"Oh God, Herc indeed!" Carolyn said with satisfaction. "Three reliable eyewitnesses. Another two in Berlin last week. Hercules is most intrigued as to what you two are up to. It was very annoying to have to admit that I had not the faintest idea. It's obviously a bet of some sort but I haven't yet worked out which of you is winning."

Martin nearly groaned aloud. Of course it must be a bet; Douglas had made a wager with someone about how far he could persuade Martin to go. Why on earth hadn't he realised before? This was Douglas, after all.

"I think you may be overlooking the simplest explanation, Carolyn." Douglas was smiling.

"No. Really no. I might, I suppose, be persuaded somehow that you have finally run out of available women and suddenly decided to bat for the other side, Douglas, astonishingly unlikely as that might seen. But Martin? You know Martin, Douglas! That’s enough to rule that one out straight away."

And that was it, really. They might as well call a halt to this farce now. Martin sighed. "You can stop it, Carolyn. We'll go over the logbook now."

"We won't."

Martin failed to meet Douglas’s eye. "Come on. We might as well."

"No. We have a date, Martin. Remember?"

Carolyn was looking from Douglas to him, and back.

"Douglas!" she hissed. "I can't believe even you would do this! Stop it, now!"

"Do feel free to mind your own business."

"I'm not letting you do this, Douglas Richardson. No. It’s beyond heartless!”

Martin turned on his heel, towards the office. Anything to shut them up. Behind him the rare sound of Douglas's voice raised in real anger.

"If you've screwed this one up for me, Carolyn, you really are going to regret it for a very long time."

Whatever the bet was, it must have been a big one. Martin walked faster, head down, veered towards his car. He couldn't do this; not tonight. He drove home, eyes stinging.

At six o'clock he went out for a walk. When his phone rang at six thirty he ignored it, ignored the next few times it rang. Eventually it went silent.

He walked up the street to the house just before eight, a little calmer. He was going to have to talk to Douglas tomorrow, that was all. Tell him to stop playing games; get him to call his bet off.

His heart sank as he recognised the purr of the Lexis from behind him. It drove level, then on to wait in front of the house, engine running. As he came up to it Douglas leaned over to open the passenger door.

"Ninety minutes is a little more than is generally considered fashionably late, Martin. If you didn't fancy the film you had only to say."

Martin sighed. "Go away, Douglas. I've had enough. This is only a game of yours."

"No. It isn't. Moderately light-hearted, yes, but not only a game." Douglas frowned at him. "You should know better than to listen to Carolyn."

"I should have know better than to listen to you. Your cover's blown; better late than never. I'm sorry about your bet."

Douglas regarded him for a moment, expressionless. "At least come to dinner. I've bought a great deal of expensive food for two and I can think of nothing more dull than cooking it for myself."

There was a tin of baked beans, a sliced white loaf and some near tasteless cheddar in his room. Martin wavered for a moment. "I don't think so. No."

"Martin. I've hung around here for an hour and a half, during which time your neighbours have been using my car for target practice, with, I might add, some degree of success. There are at least two dents in it now. You owe me dinner, at least.”

Martin winced, "Oh God, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. That's the kids from the next street." He imagined the Lexus would have been irresistible.

"But you didn't warn me. So, dinner."

He knew Douglas was playing him, but he couldn't help feeling guilty. He'd looked up the price of Douglas's car once, out of curiosity. You could buy a small plane for that. A very small and extremely second hand plane, but still...

"All right. I suppose so." He slid into the passenger seat, conscious of his old jeans and shirt and muddy trainers. At least he had an excuse for being shabby this way. He'd been rather dreading trying to work out what parts of his ageing wardrobe he could have got away with, given that he could hardly have worn his uniform trousers on a date with Douglas.

A date with Douglas. It sounded even more ridiculous now. How on earth he'd taken it seriously for a moment, he didn't know. He imagined that Douglas was planning to cook him dinner as something of an apology for stringing him along like that. They did after all have to work together. He'd accept the gesture gracefully and that would be an end to it. And he was sorry about the car.

Douglas had moved to a new apartment in town about three months ago. Martin knew it by sight- he'd been in a couple of taxi pick-ups- but he was curious to see inside. There was an electric gate and an underground car park, where Douglas ran his hand over the dents in the car's roof and wing panels with obvious distress. But when Martin tried to apologise again he shrugged. "The insurance will cover it."

He waved away Martin's offer to help with the shopping bags, led him up to the second floor.

"This is what currently passes for chez Richardson. I'll give you the tour. It won't take long." Douglas opened the four doors leading from the small hallway. "Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, sitting room. Done."

"It's..." Martin nearly said "small". "Very smart." The bedroom had a double bed, at least, which was more than he had. Not that it mattered.

"It's temporary." Douglas took the bags into the gleamingly new galley kitchen. "The meal will be about 30 minutes. Make yourself at home; find something to put on." He waved at the living room.

The living room looked barely lived in. A flat screen TV, a sleek silver music system and some sizeable speakers, a black leather chair and sofa, a black table with a silver laptop closed on top. There was a single bookcase with a colourful row of books and DVDs, mainly thrillers, and a CD rack. Martin ran his finger down the titles, looking for something that he at least recognised.

The Beatles. Which would be admitting his total ignorance of everything else. Rolling Stones. Nirvana- really? Lots of classical stuff that he knew nothing about. There- with a sense of relief he pulled out a familiar cover, crouched down to try to figure out the CD player.

"You need to turn the amp on." Douglas's voice close behind made him start slightly. "That one, yes. Now the CD player. Volume's on the remote." The guitar swirled out around them. He could almost feel warm breath on the back of his neck. This wasn't fair. Douglas had always been straight and unavailable; he'd never even given it any thought. Now Douglas was still straight and unavailable and Martin was having trouble thinking of anything else.

"This? Really? Be careful, Martin, or I'll be thinking you've developed a sense of humour." Douglas disappeared back to the kitchen leaving Martin to wonder what he'd done. He picked up the CD sleeve, sat back in the centre of the squishy leather sofa to remind himself of the contents. Dire Straits were a little middle of the road, maybe. But Douglas was the one who owned the CD.

Then Money for Nothing came on and he listened to the familiar but long forgotten lyrics with mounting embarrassment. He could hear Douglas singing along enthusiastically in the kitchen, couldn't even take offence because he'd put the damn thing on. And it went on forever, too. Douglas had a rather good singing voice, of course. He'd had his tongue way down that velvety throat twenty four hours ago, which he really had got to stop thinking about every three minutes.

"Wine." A glass appeared in front of him.

"No, I can't- not if you're not drinking."

Douglas sniffed at the glass of white wine. "This one was a Christmas present from my Uncle Andrew. Every year he asks me how I enjoyed the last bottle. The correct answer these days of course is "vicariously", but that's not a conversation I really feel the need to engage the family in."

He raised an eyebrow at Martin. "I've opened it now. If you don't drink it I'll end up pouring it down the sink."

Martin reached out a hand for the glass. "Do you ever stop manipulating people?"

Douglas shrugged. "You wanted the wine. You wanted dinner, too. I'm just facilitating." His eyes held Martin's. "And, should there be anything else that you happen to want during the course of the evening, I shall do my best to facilitate that as well."

Martin's stomach twisted. That wasn't fair! "I told you, I'm not playing your game."

"And I told you that it wasn't a game." Douglas turned back to the kitchen. "Ten minutes."

 _All I can do is hand it to you, and your latest trick_

Martin looked down at the wine. Uncle Andrew's wine. There was doubtless no Uncle Andrew. Just another Douglas story- a Douglas lie. He took a mouthful, then another. They weren't flying tomorrow, and he wasn't driving. He could have a drink, or two, and God did he need one now. In a surprisingly short time the glass was empty.

"So why worry now?" Douglas was singing blithely again in the kitchen. Then "Food." He came in bearing a wide plate. "Here. I'll top up that glass,"

Food was a rich seafood pasta and absolutely gorgeous. Martin tried to say so, repeatedly, with his mouth full until Douglas waved a fork to order him to silence. "Just eat it before it gets cold."

There was a marvellous chocolate and nut thing for dessert, and more wine. By the time Douglas disappeared with the plates, Martin had pretty much forgotten why this evening had been so much of a problem. When the coffee came he was happily crooning about his brothers in arms.

"Quite." Douglas said. "Have a mug of this and sober up a little. I'm not going to have herself accuse me of taking advantage of you while you were drunk."

"Herself?" Martin thought hard. It was quite difficult. "Carolyn?"

"That's the one." Martin found his fingers being firmly wrapped around a hot mug. "That woman's attempts to look out for you are nearly as misguided as mine were,"

Martin took a sip of near scalding hot coffee. "You shouted at her."

There was a pause while Douglas sipped his own drink. "There was a certain amount of raised voices on both sides. Rather undignified, I'm afraid.

"Of course," his eyes met Martin's over the mug, "she wasn't entirely wrong."

"I knew it!" Martin crowed. "I knew you weren't serious!"

"On the contrary, I had, and have, every intention of wining, dining and thoroughly seducing you tonight. However my motives, as Carolyn suspected, are entirely selfish, although as usual she got them seriously askew."

Martin nearly asked, caught himself. He didn't want to be lied to any more. The meal really had been very good, but nothing had changed. Douglas was still straight, and as Carolyn had said, knew him far too well to find him attractive anyway. Martin knew perfectly well what sort of men he ended up with. A Douglas of any orientation was way out of his league.

He gulped the coffee down, too hot. "I ought to be going."

"No. You ought to stay, for a while at least. We can talk."

Martin snorted tipsily, "We talk every day, Douglas. Endlessly. What have we possibly got left to talk about?"

"We could always talk about last night," Douglas suggested. "Unless you'd rather chat about it at 10,000 feet with Arthur dropping in every three minutes?"

Ouch. "I've nothing to say."

"In that case I suggest that you listen." Douglas stood up put something quiet and classical on the CD player, fetched the coffee jug. "Have some more of this while you do so."

He stood over Martin to pour, sighed. "I must be losing my touch. I haven't even managed to manoeuvre us onto the same sofa yet. Can you take it that I've found an appropriate pretext and budge up a bit?"

Martin found himself temporarily incapable of action. It was Douglas's sofa; of course the man could sit down on it if he wanted. Next to him. After all, Douglas spent half his life sitting next to him...he finally moved to one end and Douglas sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, spread out one arm to lie lightly across Martin's shoulders. "Much better."

Martin's skin felt as if it were burning everywhere that the weight of that arm rested. He looked down at his socks, noticed with embarrassment the small hole at the end of one big toe.

"Last night shouldn't really have been surprising; the first bit anyway." Douglas said, conversationally. "After all, I knew that you were attracted to men, and I don't think I flatter myself unduly by saying that I am a particularly attractive specimen of the gender. And I did keep kissing you. Some sort of reaction was almost inevitable."

He paused for a response from Martin. When none came he continued smoothly on.

"Your reaction was a little bolder than I'd anticipated. It's easy to forget that you are not in fact the blushing virgin that you sometimes appear."

It had all been about laughing at him, of course it had.

"That's it. I'm going home." Martin started to push himself upwards, found the hand tight around his shoulder pulling him down, and towards Douglas' smile.

"If you don't sit down and shut up I will kiss you again. Hard."

Just the thought of it sent a drunken pulse to his groin. And Douglas would know...he sank down again, miserable.

"Where were we? Oh yes, kissing. Enthusiastically. Because while your reaction was predictable, mine was rather more surprising."

He brought his mouth up to brush Martin's ear. "Surprising for the red blooded heterosexual that I've always considered myself, that is. And far from unpleasant. So I decided I rather liked the idea of some more. Of course all I actually managed to do was insult you, for which I am actually very sorry, because I think this might have all gone considerably more smoothly before Carolyn had a chance to muddy the waters, since you have decided that Carolyn of all people is a much better judge of why I'm doing this than I am."

"You do lie," Martin felt obliged to point out.

"Not all the time, Martin! You knew perfectly well what I wanted when I turned up at your room and you told me quite reasonably to sod off. Why's it so impossible to believe that it's what I want now?"

Martin shook his head.

"No, come on, Captain. It's time you gave me an answer." Douglas's voice had acquired an edge. "I've had to drag you here kicking and screaming and all you do is threaten to leave. I've had some spectacularly unsuccessful dates in my time but this one is starting to really stand out from the crowd. If you really don't want to sleep with me for God's sake just say so and I'll drive you home."

Martin pulled away, indignant. "Of course I..." He shook his head again, vehemently. "I mean...Oh for Christ's sake, Douglas. You don't want me. You could have your pick of guys out there; you don't want me."

"Yes." Douglas snapped back at him. "As it happens, I do. Do you know why?"

He swallowed, nauseous. "Please don't, Douglas. I don't think I can stand any profound declarations." There were some lies he really couldn't bear to hear.

"Well you can damn well hear this one!" His co-pilot was truly irritated now. "I don't want to pick up some fit young guy and spend half the night trying to keep it up and and the other half worrying if I'm doing it right. I was just curious, OK? I wanted to play. More specifically, I wanted to play with you because I had this probably erroneous and I must say now rapidly disappearing belief that it might be fun and not particularly traumatic for either of us." He stood up. "Just forget it. I'll take you home."

Oh. Oh God. Martin felt very small and very stupid. Douglas had gone for his keys. He could have stayed. It would have been all right if he hadn't been so suspicious, so downright hostile. So sure that Douglas was lying, because it was Douglas and that's what he did.

"Ready?"

Martin almost took the path of least resistance and said yes. Instead he took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Douglas. I've been really very rude and you didn't deserve it. This time, anyway. You usually do, but not this time."

Douglas considered him, expressionless. "You have been more than a little difficult tonight, admittedly." He paused, still watching Martin. Eventually he tossed the keys on the table. "We could try another pot of coffee."

Martin nodded. "That would be nice."

Douglas snorted. "I won't count on it. Not if it involves both of us." His eyes were fixed on Martin's.

"On the other hands, I think that we have both possibly had enough coffee. Let’s try something else instead.”

He came forward, slid a hand around the back of Martin's head and kissed him. After a beat of surprise Martin kissed him back, pressed up against his body, heart racing.

Douglas pulled away for air. "Oh, yes. That still seems to be having the desired effect. Shall we go straight for the bedroom, do you think?"

Douglas and bed and now. Martin nodded, temporarily speechless. Douglas frowned slightly at him. "Fun, remember. Don't go catatonic on me."

That stung him into speech. "You're not that amazing, Richardson. I've slept with men who knew what they were doing, remember."

He detected a hint of relief in Douglas's laugh. "You're a cruel man, Captain Crieff, to poke fun at my virgin blushes when you could be de-virgining them instead. Bedroom."

They staggered, still kissing, to the small bedroom and Douglas pulled Martin down sideways onto the bed next to him. "You taste of wine. God, I love kissing drunk people."

"I'm not drunk!" Martin protested.

"No, not quite." Douglas's hands slid under his shirt onto bare flesh. "We can both assure our interfering employer that we know exactly what we're doing." He brushed his thumb tentatively across a nipple. "Or at least I don't, exactly, but I know that I'm doing it."

Stubble was rough under Martin's tongue. "Not so bad so far." He started to undo Douglas's shirt buttons.

"Not at the business end yet." Douglas murmured. "So far, with the notable exception of bosoms and some interesting muscle structures, it's running a pretty similar operating system." He dipped his head to bite gently at Martin's neck, watched him squirm in pleasure. "See? But underneath I'm expecting some significant equipment differences and that's always a little challenging when you're flying for the first time."

"Then I guess your Captain will have to talk you through it," Martin tried, a little boldly, was rewarded with a grin. He pulled the other man's shirt open, ran his hands slowly over the exposed chest. There was a definite layer of fat under the sparsely haired skin; he found that oddly reassuring. Douglas's fingers were flickering over Martin's ribcage.

"You're skinnier than I thought."

"Are we exchanging critiques?" Martin asked tartly.

"Please heaven, no. I'm not in the shape I was fifteen years ago. Good living and too much sitting around in aeroplanes."

"Pretty poor living and too much lifting furniture,"

Douglas's hand ran across the muscles of Martin's stomach, under his loose shirt, "What you do, just to fly..."

"I thought we were having fun," Martin said, rather desperately. Now was not the time to talk about his problems.

"My apologies." Douglas fumbled at Martin's shirt buttons, snorted amusement. "Damn. Of course they do up the other way. There, done." He sat up to pull his own unbuttoned shirt from around his shoulders.

That was the upper body of a man middle aged and slightly overweight and Martin couldn't care less. He shrugged his own shirt off, paused for a moment, unused to taking the lead in circumstances like these.

"Captain?" Douglas murmured, deep voiced.

Yes. He was, after all, the captain, and in charge here. Grateful for the reminder, Martin took a deep breath, pushed Douglas, a little tentatively, back down onto the mattress, found him entirely willing to be directed.

Perched astride clothed hips, Martin could see the bulge at Douglas's groin. God, the man really did want to do this. Really did. Not just Douglas playing games. For a moment or two Martin forgot to breathe. His own erection pushed insistent against his jeans.

Except that maybe Douglas only thought he did. The man had been entirely straight for decades, after all. Maybe as soon as they got down to that difference in equipment he'd realise his mistake, be repelled. Far safer to stick to kissing. Martin could always go home and deal with his own reaction later. Yes. Play it safe. A few more minutes kissing, with hands safely above the waist, then call it a night while they were both still speaking to each other, and that would be that.

"Oh, Lord, I know that expression," Douglas declared cheerfully from below him. "It's the look you get when you've decided that a manoeuvre isn't safe. And now I have to convince you that I am perfectly capable of carrying it out without crashing the plane. Well, Captain Crieff, watch and learn."

He undid Martin's belt with a couple of efficient tugs, pulled button open, zip down and had his hand tight around Martin's erection before he could protest. With his other hand he pulled Martin’s fingers down to press against the solid mass under his neatly tailored trousers. "And voila! it appears that we are still in the air. Carry on, Captain." He withdrew both hands and tucked them behind his head.

Martin glared at him. "Thank you, Douglas. I see your interpretation of the role of co-pilot is as idiosyncratic as ever."

"You were about to bottle it and divert, Martin. Informed advice and second opinion to help you avoid making expensive mistakes; that's what a co-pilot's for."

"That was advice?And what do you think you’re doing now?"

"Waiting for instructions." Douglas looked entirely comfortable on his back.

"Right. OK. OK, then." Martin's mind went blank. He could feel himself starting to panic. "You can, can..." He threw himself forward so that his forehead hit the man underneath squarely in the chest. "God, I can't do this," he mumbled into bare skin. "I can't just give you orders."

"You do it often enough the rest of the time," Douglas murmured. "No, it's all right, Martin. We'll muddle through somehow. Let's get you out of those jeans, for a start. I've been thinking about doing that for the last two hours at least."

Douglas, it turned out, knew exactly what he was doing, even those things that he assured Martin that he had never done before. Douglas also had a very clear idea of what he wanted to try.

"Are you sure? Really? Because I sort of assumed... Really? Are you sure?" Martin was sprawled on his back, his attention divided between Douglas's fingers and their slow, intimate caress and the matter-of-fact proposal just put to him.

"Why not?"

Because you're Douglas Richardson. "I thought you'd want to...well...be on top."

"To reinforce my masculinity?"

"I guess. Something like that."

Douglas propped himself up higher on his elbow, looked down, laughing. "And this after everything we've already done this evening? Tell me truthfully, Captain Crieff. Are you still going to respect me in the morning?"

"What do you mean, "still", Douglas?"

"Well then. Will this make any difference?"

"Of course it won't."

"So, humour me. Unless you'd prefer not to do it, of course?"

Martin took a breath. "I think I might manage to enjoy it. Have you got stuff? I would have brought some, except that in the end you rather kidnapped me off the street."

"If by stuff you mean condoms and lubricant, then yes." He rolled over, opened a drawer. "I bought these months ago when I moved in. Not for you, obviously."

Martin looked at the unopened boxes. "Quieter than you expected?"

"You're the first person I've invited past the front door, as it happens. Being single gets less exciting every time I do it."

He tossed the box of condoms to Martin. "They OK?"

Martin did a quick near-automatic risk analysis. "Yes, fine."

"Good. This time you really are going to have to take the lead, I'm afraid. Any way you want is fine by me."

Martin just managed to avoid asking him yet again if he was sure.

"OK. You’d better..I mean, try...Lie on your back, then? If that’s all right?" Despite the potential for embarrassment he wanted to see Douglas's face, because the man was quite likely to lie about it hurting.

It turned out that Douglas had quite a lot to say about the way it felt but most of it seemed to be genuine.

"I didn't say stop, Martin, I just said it was weird! Ow- now stop! No, no, I'm good again. Oh, that is interesting! Just there...bit more of that. Harder. More of this would be...definitely...good..."

At that point Martin propped himself up on a single hand and curled his fingers downwards to reduce Douglas to a gratifying and wordless panting. There were nails digging into his shoulder blades and a crescendo of helpless sounding gasps from the man underneath him and he thought it was quite possibly one of the finest moments of his life and surely, surely, Douglas wouldn't be quite so downright rude to him after this and on that superb realisation he tipped his head back and made an uncontrolled but at least reasonably subdued noise, just as Douglas was arching his back and moaning below him.

They collapsed in a heap of limbs and general mess, both slow to get their breath back.

"Was that all right?" Martin asked, cautiously.

"No. I think I may have just had a heart attack."

"God! Really?"

"You sound just like Arthur. No, not really." Douglas tightened an arm around Martin's waist, his eyes closed. "Good job we're not flying tomorrow though. I need a good night’s sleep after that."

Oh. Martin looked at the bedside clock. Two am. "I'll get off home, then." It was only a couple of miles; he could walk.

"What?" Douglas pulled him in closer. "I'm not throwing you out, idiot. We are having a thoroughly civilised and entirely traditional post-shag breakfast tomorrow- everything's already in the fridge. I don't know what sort of fly-by-night arrangements you're normally accustomed to but I do this sort of thing properly. Now go to sleep."

Martin heaved a deep sigh. Significantly less than two minutes after coming to pieces underneath him and Douglas was all smug and superior again. Was Douglas.

Still, there was a warm arm around him and legs entwined with his, which didn't happen very often, and somehow, he still didn't know how, he and Douglas had managed to have sex without any of the near-inevitable disasters that one might expect and could still look each other in the face afterwards. He didn't know if it would happen again; he guessed maybe that would be the breakfast conversation, but at least there was breakfast. All in all, as dates go, he'd had worse. Douglas was already beginning to snore. Martin curled up in the crook of his co-pilot’s arm and smiled to himself. So much for Carolyn. And on that rather satisfying thought he fell asleep.


End file.
